


bad moon rising

by orphan_account



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ballerina Pearl, Cramps, Dysmenorrhea, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Amethyst/Pearl (Steven Universe), Menstruation, period fic, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24934411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Human AU. Pearl has cramps and Amethyst is a lifesaver.
Relationships: Amethyst/Pearl (Steven Universe)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	bad moon rising

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pearl curses miserably, slamming her fist with a metallic thud against the useless dispenser hanging on the wall. Who the hell leaves a tampon dispenser non-operational in a bathroom without even an ‘out of order’ sign? 

And it had swallowed her dollar. Fuck, indeed. 

She has half a mind to complain to the dance administrator, but now - trapped in the restroom, surprised by her period, having run out of practice with a half hour left to find no supplies left in her locker - is really not the time. 

Her panic rises as her stomach tightens horribly and she feels an alarming damp sensation between her legs. She retreats back to the stall, considering her limited options. 

Today is one of Amethyst’s usual days off; and Pearl can only pray her roommate hasn’t taken an extra shift or headed to Lapis’ for an art session. She would sooner _die_ than text Rose, the only other person she knows with a car - contacting your ex with a menstrual emergency would truly be rock bottom. 

Thinking about Rose was a mistake. She swallows hard against the knot in her throat and sting in her eyes, clearing her vision to fire off a quick message to Amethyst. 

_I’m sorry to bother you, but are you busy right now?_

_sup pearlygirl, whatcha need_

_A ride home, please, if at all possible._

_sure, u at studio? what’s up?_

_Please just come pick me up. I’ll buy you dinner, whatever you like._

_omw_

Pearl breathes a shaky sigh, leaning her hot forehead against the metal of the cubicle door. 

This is all _so_ middle school.

* * *

Amethyst is there inside ten minutes, no doubt due to her usual reckless driving. Pearl can’t help but feel grateful for this in her present circumstances, as she almost sprints to the car with her sweater tied around her waist. 

“Woah, Pearl, what’s the hurry?” 

“Please just drive,” Pearl mutters frantically, buckling her seatbelt with shaky hands. Amethyst raises an eyebrow but obligingly jolts the car into movement. 

“Seriously, P, you’re kinda freaking me out. Something happen at the studio? I thought you didn’t finish ‘til five.” 

“I got my period,” she mutters, voice clipped and face burning. Amethyst lets out a low whistle. 

“Yikes. Did ya have - “ 

“No,” Pearl cringes, thinking of the hastily constructed toilet-paper pad currently preserving Amethyst’s seat and the remains of her dignity, “and the machine was out. Or broken, I don’t know. So I’d like to get home as soon as possible.” 

“You shoulda said, P, I’d have stopped by the drugstore,” Amethyst says, glancing at her in concern as the car rolls to a stop in front of a red light. “I got your back, even when it’s shark week.” 

Something in Amethyst’s words, the unconditional support hidden there in the brash manner, lays to waste the last vestiges of her emotional control. Everything she’d been suppressing - pain and embarrassment and gratitude and frustration - bubbles to the surface all at once, like the surging spill of a shaken soda bottle. 

It’s more than she can handle, and Pearl’s thin chest hitches a little gasp as the first tears drop down her cheeks. 

Amethyst, of course, notices. “Shit, shit, Pearl, don’t cry, it’s okay, nobody saw and we’re nearly home - are you feeling sick? D’you need me to pull over? What can I do?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - p-please, just drive,” Pearl sobs, burying her face in her hands. She can’t look at Amethyst right now, wishing the footwell could open and swallow her up, her childish tears the final salt in the wound of her humiliation. 

Amethyst, mercifully, heeds her word and floors it the second the light changes.

* * *

Pearl works herself further into a state during the rest of the short drive, hurling herself out of the car the second Amethyst pulls into the driveway and making a beeline for their tiny bathroom. 

She cleans up, grimacing at the total massacre of her underwear, then throws the panties in the garbage and herself into a long, scorching shower as if she can scrub the memory of the afternoon away along with the evidence. The low twisting ache she had felt beginning in the car has built to into a roiling barrage of cramps that not even the hot water can help. 

When she emerges, half an hour later, feeling clean but wretched, she is surprised to find a corner store bag tossed on her bed with a note, scrawled in Amethyst’s messy hieroglyphics: 

_P,_

_Thought you could use these. Dinner’s on me tonight - see you in the lounge when you’re ready._

_A xox_

A peek into the sack causes Pearl’s shoulders to sag in disbelief: ginger ale, Midol, her preferred brand of tampons, and a block of dark chocolate - the nice kind, the stuff Amethyst refuses to eat because “it’s so freaking bitter it, like, totally defeats the object of buying candy”. It's type she always craves whenever it‘s coming to _that time_ , but usually talks herself out of buying with self-rebuking reminders that a _good_ dancer has _discipline_. 

Amethyst absolutely had her number. She must’ve run to the store while Pearl was in the shower. Somehow, it makes her smile despite herself. 

She pops two of the Midol immediately and swallows them down with a swig of the ginger ale. Her cycle isn’t regular - twenty days one month, thirty-six the next, tumbleweeds for two months after that. Following a hiatus, however, her uterus is always keen to remind her of its existence and _really_ likes to let her have it. 

Already she can feel herself starting to sweat from the pain, despite being freshly showered; and halfway through pulling on her leggings she has to stop and sit down, doubled over, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth until a particularly intense wave of cramps passes. 

She eventually gets dressed and makes her way through to the lounge. Amethyst is dangling one foot off the edge of the beat-up sofa, yawning at an old anime on the laptop screen, but she sits up sharp as soon as she sees Pearl. “Hey, Pierogi. How’re you holding up?” 

“Better for a shower and your little, um, care package,” Pearl admits, one hand clutching her belly, the other holding her soda. “Amethyst, thank you. I can pay you b-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Amethyst waves her hand. “What else are best friends for? You’ve helped me out enough times when I’ve been caught out, right?” 

“I’ve never driven to your rescue to save you from becoming a social pariah,” Pearl returns, stepping shakily into the lounge. 

“But you would,” Amethyst grins, catlike, and pats the couch cushion beside her. “C’mon, let’s order takeout. I’m starving.” 

Their usual back-and-forth over takeout preferences commences, but Pearl has the distinct impression that Amethyst acquiesces more readily than usual when she argues her case for Chinese over pizza. The Midol is starting to work, thank goodness, but there’s still tension in her back and the hot dragging pain in her stomach that has her hissing when she sits back too quickly after reading over their order. Amethyst notices. 

“That bad, huh?” 

“It was worse earlier.” 

“Doesn’t exactly fill me with reassurance, P,” is Amethyst’s sceptical reply as she hits ‘confirm order’. “C’mere. Get comfy.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Pearl starts. 

“I’m offering.” 

“But - the food - “ 

“Won’t be here for thirty minutes or so. Coincidentally, the same length as an episode of Camp Pining Hearts, give or take a minute depending on commercials. C’mon - “ Amethyst waggles her eyebrows as she reaches down the side of the couch, pulling out their worn crochet throw with a flourish. “I got a blanket.” 

Pearl can’t help but smile as she pulls up her legs, nestling against Amethyst, pudgy thigh cushioning bony shoulder. Her head rests in Amethyst’s lap and she hums contentedly as Amethyst cards her fingers through her still-damp hair, a welcome distraction from the discomfort and her disaster of a practice. 

Then Amethyst’s other hand rests on her hip, causing her to squeak at the pressure. 

“Shit, sorry, I forgot - did I hurt you?” 

“No! Just, surprised.” 

Amethyst apologises by rubbing her knuckles along the base of Pearl’s spine through her sweater, where the cramps in her back are concentrated. They have an understanding of each other built up over the years - their piques and quirks, their fears, vices and habits.  Amethyst knows her just as well as she knows Amethyst - in two weeks or so she’ll be the one wordlessly restocking the migraine medicine and salty Chaaaaaps, which she hates but a PMS-stricken Amethyst can decimate in minutes. 

The gentle pressure of Amethyst’s hand coupled with the Midol has the tension in her back unspooling some, and a tiny smile of relief relaxes the corners of her lips. Lilac hair tickles her cheek and she twists her head up a little to see Amethyst looking down at her, eyes soft. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“Just some ginger nerd,” she returns, but her tone is fond. “How’re you feeling now?” 

“A little better, but it still hurts, ” Pearl admits begrudgingly. “I might grab a heating pad after we eat.” 

“Why not get it now?” 

“No, I’ll save it for when I really need it.” 

“How does that make sense?” Amethyst squawks a laugh. “You’d rather wait for it to get worse than do somethin’ early on to stop it getting so bad?” 

“I’m twenty-one, Ame. I should be able to handle it.” 

“P, there’s no ‘should’ with cramps. I know you’re stubborn but that’s next level. Lemme up.” 

Pearl _hmph_ s her indignation as Amethyst shifts her out of her lap, but all is forgiven when the heating pad is plugged in and wrapped snugly around her, radiating welcome warmth over her swollen tummy. 

She still feels gross and bloated and ugly, but the heat soon has the pain settling to a dull background throb. She sighs with relief, leaning back against Amethyst, and feels rather than sees the other girl chuckle behind her. 

“What’s so funny?” she demands. 

“Nothin’. You’re cute is all.” Pearl rolls her eyes, tipping her head to look back at Amethyst. 

“Amethyst, my endometrium is shredding itself and I feel repulsive. How is anything about this cute?” 

“I dunno, just - good to see you relax some,” Amethyst finishes, cheeks a little pink. 

“Are you - are you blushing?” 

“Nah, just hot with your heat pack on full whack - no, no, don’t turn it down!” she yelps, pulling Pearl back by the shoulder as she scrabbles for the switch. “It’s all G, Pearl. Seriously, you gotta chill. It’s like you’ve never had anyone coddle you before.” 

“...” 

“ _Pearl_. Have you never had anyone take care of you like this?” 

“I - not when I’m - “ Pearl stumbles, embarrassed, gesturing vaguely at her abdomen. 

“What about Rose?” Amethyst blurts out, then winces as Pearl’s face droops. “Sorry, Pearl,” she groans. “I shouldn’t have - “ 

“No, it’s fine,” Pearl sighs, running a hand through her bangs. “It was a year ago, I have to get used to it - we live in the same city, we practice at the same dance studio. But no... she never really - “ 

Pearl breaks off, unsure how to verbalise it. Rose had cooed over her, certainly seemed sympathetic; and the deep bathtub in Rose’s much larger apartment had always been a welcome relief for cramps or muscles pushed to the point of aching at ballet practice. 

But there had always been a slightly patronising edge, now she looks back - never the easy familiarity of Amethyst or even Garnet. And she’d been so busy, only stopping to oh-poor-baby her for the briefest time before running off to a protest or a rock show with Greg. 

Pearl grimaces. Yes, more often than not, she’d been far too busy with Greg. But they had only dated for a few months, and as Rose always took pains to remind her they weren’t exclusive. There’s a sour taste in her mouth at the memory, and she sips her ginger ale before answering, “She was busy.” 

“That’s bull,” Amethyst says bluntly. “She should’ve made time for you. You’re like, no trouble and you’re so hard on yourself and you get so - so worked up about it all, y’know? It’s just your period.” 

“You’d be awkward about your cycle if you’d grown up with my mother,” Pearl counters, massaging her stomach through the heat pad. She remembers the contemptuous eyes and pursed lips that first time, when she’d tapped on her mother’s door to ask tearfully where the  _personal items_ were kept. She’d been so ashamed, barely able to whisper the words, and her mother had waved her away with a " _Really, Pearl, you’re embarrassing both of us"_ . 

She’d cried as silently as she could afterwards, hot tears in the freezing bathroom, alone and overwhelmed - mortified by the loud ripping of the wrapper, terrified by the amount of blood, disgusted by the awful bulky feeling of the pad, certain it would show through her clothes and disgrace her. She’d been twelve, tall but flat as a board and totally unprepared. 

“Try having Jasper talk you through it! I swear, P, she was in hell. She got, like, as far as telling me ‘you ain’t dying’ before throwin’ a half pack of Kotex at me and tellin’ me to go read the instructions,” Amethyst guffaws. “She was all ‘I cant handle this shit’. My big sis! She got me a candy bar, though, that was neat.” 

“My mother threatened to ground me after the school nurse sent me home with cramps,” Pearl says, eyes fixed on the screen. “They were so bad I’d thrown up. Twice, actually.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“I was thirteen.” Pearl hesitates, then mimics her mother’s cold, imperious tone: “‘More than only enough to manage such matters without a fuss".'

“That’s fucked up,” Amethyst murmurs. “I’m sorry, Pierogi. You never said.” 

“It isn’t proper -“ Pearl catches herself. “I mean - I’d been _raised to think_ it wasn’t proper to talk about it.” 

“We talked about everything!” 

“And I still couldn’t - you could always just say it, so casually!” She remembers college, at a party - texting Amethyst discreetly, telegraphing the urgency of her request with wide eyes across the room; and wanting to die as Amethyst hollered “yo, Garnet, you got a tampon I can bum?”. Both Garnet and Amethyst had been perfectly relaxed but she had felt like she was smuggling contraband up her sleeve to the bathroom. 

“Well, it’s normal,” Amethyst shrugs. “So I don’t mind helping out when you’re, like, bleeding half to death or feeling crappy or just wanna eat your gross chocolate and cry or whatever. I gotcha.” 

“I - “, Pearl starts, stops, sighs, glares down at her stomach. “I hate seeming so _weak_.” 

“Pearl,” Amethyst wheedles, hand tracing lazy circles on the small of her back. “You’re a badass. You practice insane hours and do things with your body I don’t even understand. The way you dance doesn’t make sense in like - the laws of physics. And you know all about those too, you’re basically a genius! But you’re still human. You’re allowed to slow it down just a little bit,” Amethyst says; then, uncharacteristically gentle. “You could never be weak. Not to me.” 

Pearl’s eyes are prickling before she can check them. Jesus, the emotional sensitivity is nearly as inconvenient as the physical pain. She lets dignity be damned, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her clean sweater, managing in a strangled voice, “I’m sorry, it isn’t you, I - “ 

“Shh. Quit apologising, yeah?” Amethyst says, reaching across to wrap both arms around her from behind. It’s comforting and safe and familiar and easy and somehow it makes the tears fall faster. 

“I don’t even know w-why I’m crying,” Pearl sobs. But there’s a feeling - not grief, but close to, somewhere, balled up and buried deep. How many times had she needed to be hugged and reassured, and been denied it? By Rose? _Before_ Rose? She can’t put it into words, only curl into Amethyst’s arms and cry and cry. 

“There don’t gotta be a reason, yeah? Just - y’know. Let it out.” 

So she does. She cries until her eyes are sore, Amethyst holding her, occasionally reaching up to wipe a tear or squeeze her shoulder. They are almost cheek to cheek - Pearl red-eyed and sniffling, Amethyst murmuring softly in Spanish. 

_“No llores, te tengo, no te dejaré_.” 

“What’re you saying?” Pearl sniffles. Her AP Spanish is always insufficient against Amethyst’s rapid speech and lilting accent when she slips into her second language. 

“Um, basically, just - chill, P. I got you.” 

“You always do,” Pearl manages, with a watery smile. “Thank you, Amethyst. For being there for me.” 

There is a beat; then a quick, tentative kiss against her damp cheek, so quick Pearl almost thinks she imagined it. 

“...Amethyst?” 

Pearl turns to look at her, eyes wide, wondering, the cogs of her brain all whirring at once. Amethyst looks guilty, almost afraid, searching her face warily for signs of rejection. 

But there are none. Something pleasant - warm and gold and sodapop sweet - begins to fizz in Pearl’s chest, despite the lingering pain. It’s like the satisfaction of a perfect turn sequence, or working out an equation, or winning an debate; but amplified a hundred times, mixed in with something softer and safer. 

Looking at Amethyst, it feels so natural even Pearl can’t overthink it; as though the feelings have been lying dormant, biding their time as patiently as their inspirer. 

_She’s got you_. Pearl smiles, despite her wet lashes, and Amethyst’s whole body seems to relax in answer. 

Gently, Pearl places the ginger ale on the table a safe distance away, as she leans towards Amethyst and her slow-spreading grin, eyes fluttering closed as she threads their fingers and - 

_BZZZZZZ._

“Oh, my God - “ 

“And that would be our takeout,” Amethyst jumps up, face aflame, running a hand through the back of her hair as she grabs her keys from the bowl on the table. “Heh. Way to ruin a moment, right?” 

Pearl grabs her hand before she can run; pulls her down, kisses her soundly on the lips. 

“Not ruined,” she whispers. “Now go. And Amethyst?” 

“Mmhm?” The purple-haired girl turns to look at her, hand on the door handle. Her face is alight with such obvious happiness that Pearl thinks her day as a whole might be salvageable, despite the earlier embarrassment. 

“Don't forget to tip." 

Amethyst flips her off, of course; but behind it, she's beaming. 


End file.
